


About Lettuce Salad

by Helvetious



Series: Mansplaining Cooking with Takashi Shirogane [1]
Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre Kerberos, future relationship, i guess?, it's saturday and lunch time and shiro just finds out he's pining, pining! Shiro, platonic except not, wholesome shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 14:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16536038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helvetious/pseuds/Helvetious
Summary: Shiro swallows because if there's one thing life has taught him is not to take anything for granted. Not even his own body, if his illness has a say in anything. And even less, people.Taking people for granted is disgusting and also very, very naive.Not his late grandfather, not his teachers, not his friends or lovers. Eventually, they all give up on him. Eventually everyone leaves. It's a matter of time, and all his life Shiro just waited and let it happen. Perhaps that's why he didn't mourn that much when Adam finally walked away. He knew all along.They all leave him. Keith should.





	About Lettuce Salad

He wakes up to a sting on his arm- a shock of electricity squeezes the band around the pulse of his wrist- and an empty bed. 

He's been waking up to an empty bed for a some months now. That stings too, a little, but not enough. 

It should worry him, that he doesn't really mourn that much the loss of his last relationship. It should, but it doesn't. 

His apartment smells of warm food that makes his stomach growl and he groans aloud as he stretches sleepily and yawns. Warmth spreads on his chest because yeah, his bed is too big for him but there's still someone else home with him.

Shiro blindly pats around the mattress until he find his datapad under the unused pillow, on the cold side of the bed. He fights his eyes trying to close again while he tries focusing them enough to check the hour, then hisses as he kicks the sheets away from his body.

Keith got him to sleep in again.

-

It wasn't pity, but kinship what made him buy that comfy couch two years ago so Keith could spend in his apartment the few weekends a year the Garrison allowed their cadets to visit their families. Adam didn't argue him, although he sighed a little when he checked Shiro's bank account after the purchase. 

But that was all, and Shiro gave no explanations because Adam knew. He knew of Shiro's time as a cadet when everyone went to visit their families and he stayed alone in the Garrison quarters because there was no one to pick him up. Shiro wanted better for Keith and Adam understood. 

For the longest time, Adam understood everything until one day he didn't. Everyone has their limits and Shiro met his ex boyfriend's a few months ago.

The apartment is now a little empty, but the couch is still there. He bumps into it when he enters the living room with a towel over his head and face. There are sheets folded neatly on top of a pillow on the couch, a sight he's used to after two years. It's a comforting sight, too, because not everything has changed. These weekends still smell of nice, warm food. 

Sometimes he dares to think it smells better than when it was only him and Adam, but pretends it's just his pettiness talking. 

A more logical part of him knows it isn't.

Shiro pulls the towel from his head and breathes loudly from his mouth, and he smiles with an open mouth because Keith is in his little kitchen making lunch already because of course he is. 

That is also a comforting sight.

Keith's back is facing him, and he doesn't really turn to regard his senior. It would've been considered rude if done by anyone else but Shiro knows better, he knows it's because Keith is relaxed and can trust his back to Shiro. It's an honor. 

"Good Morning" says the boy. 

Shiro's smile grows. "Good Afternoon" he corrects, "what did I tell you about sneaking into my room to turn off all my alarms?"

Keith shrugs. He doesn't answer anymore because Shiro knows Keith won't stop doing it and he's been told the reasons many times before.

_ It's Saturday and your day off, you're not needed anywhere today. _

_ You've been working so hard ever since you were assigned to Kerberos, you need to sleep more.  _

_ Let your body rest, dummy. _

__

"What are we making?" Shiro walks around from the little living room to the even littler kitchen, dropping his towel on the armrest of the couch (Keith will scold him for that later) and brushing his bangs with his fingers, still wet from his shower. 

"Ground beef risotto" Keith's eyes flicker to Shiro for a second before focusing back to his task and dropping the rice into the boiling mix. "Help me with the salad-- and don't make a face."

But beside him, Shiro is already pouting. 

" _Salad_ " he whispers, offended, and he sees the bowl before him- its content full of garden colors.

"You're a child" Keith's face is serious, but he sounds a little amused. "After all we're fed at the Garrison, your body should be craving a little green" he explains, "I know mine does." 

Shiro breathes through his mouth, making a laughing sound. "I just woke up and you're already talking to me about your body cravings." 

Keith snorts and bumps his hip against Shiro's. "Prick," he whispers and Shiro laughs.

"That is no way to refer to your superior officer" he teases, and Keith groans. 

"Look- my hands are full," Keith says, "I just need you to put some mayo on it, can you manage that?" 

There's the tiniest dare in his voice that reminds them both of what a disaster Shiro can be in the kitchen. Shiro takes up on it and replies with a titter and a "Yes, sir" before turning to open the fridge. 

"What," Keith breathes, the moment he sees Shiro about to drop a huge spoonful of mayo on their salad bowl, "are you doing?" 

Shiro stops his hand instantly, mayonnaise floating ominously above some innocent tomato slices. "You said-"

"Water it down." 

"What." 

Keith rolls his eyes."You'll make the lettuce all sticky" he tells him, "put it on a bowl with cold water and mix it, _then_ pour it on the salad"

Shiro frowns, ready to argue because he may suck at cooking but even he knows that's really not necessary, yet his face clears when he remembers. "You hate the taste of mayo."

Keith hums, "but you won't eat lettuce without it."

He's right. Shiro hated lettuce since he was a kid, and only started warming up to it when Keith and his cooking came into his life. 

Something pecks at the back of his neck. Dread, Shiro recognizes. Believes to be. 

But he shrugs it off and obeys, picking a smaller bowl and dumping mayo and cold water in it, to mix it with a fork. "All these extra dishes getting dirty because you're spoiled" he teases. He knows the spoiled one is him, but Keith's little knowing smirk isn't there to call him out on that particular truth.

"It's not me who does the dishes, so I don't care" Keith replies and snorts when Shiro pushes him, softly, on the shoulder. 

Shiro shakes his head and goes back on his own task. He almost whines when he finds raw onion in their salad, but Keith reassures him he put the onion slices in water and in the freezer for some minutes so their taste wouldn't be too strong. Shiro swallows and the dread is back- it can only be dread because Keith knows him too well and too much and he could get used to this--

Shiro is used to this. He's been used to this for who knows how long now and it's this realization what bothers him. 

Once the salad is ready, Keith pats his arm and congratulates him for not setting it on fire. 

"Prick!" Shiro laughs, and he shoves Keith again, just a little harder to make him stumble. "Let me try the rice."

Keith laughs, finally, and serves a bite of their risotto on his wooden spoon. He makes sure it has meat because he knows Shiro likes it. It's too much, and too hot for Shiro to eat all of it but he's hungry and leans down eagerly when Keith offers to feed him. And it's delicious, it's worth it when even when his tongue burns and the rice is not soft at all and the sauce spills down his chin and burns there too, a path on his skin. 

Keith wipes the sauce off Shiro's face with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth as he turns back to the stove- cleans it absentmindedly with one, quick suck.

Shiro freezes. 

Because. Because- _because_ muscle memory and some sense of deja-vù tells him that this is not the first time they've done this and it's not the first time Keith have done this but it _is_ the first time Shiro's brain decided to sit and think _hey, isn't this a little too intimate?_

_ Hey, how come we're so used to this like it's the most normal thing?  _

Fear spreads cold and quick and his neck is so stiff it hurts and Shiro doesn't notice he's been staring at the flowers on Keith's apron for a little bit too long. 

"Still hard?" Keith asks him. 

Shiro blinks. "What?" he says, and almost spits out the food that he forgot to swallow. 

Keith frowns at him. "The rice," he says, "still hard to chew?" 

His frown stays when Shiro nervously nods at him, and he closes the lid of their pot to give the rice a little more time.

"Can you set the table?" says Keith, softly, and turns to take out their bowls for lunch. 

Shiro's mind is racing but he nods and goes to tidy up the small tea table set in front of Keith's couch. He needs to know when it started- Keith doesn't seem to notice, and god, Shiro has not noticed a thing until just now. But suddenly he finds himself with the fact that Keith is seventeen, his best friend and the one person in the world who managed to worm this deep into his heart without neither of them noticing to the point that it feels- he feels- 

Shiro swallows because if there's one thing life has taught him is not to take anything for granted. Not even his own body, if his illness has a say in anything. And even less, people.

Taking people for granted is disgusting and also very, very naive. 

Not his late grandfather, not his teachers, not his friends or lovers. Eventually, they all give up on him. Eventually everyone leaves. It's a matter of time, and all his life Shiro just waited and let it happen. Perhaps that's why he didn't mourn that much when Adam finally walked away. He knew all along.

They all leave him. Keith should.

Except Keith won't and Shiro wants to believe he will because hoping against loneliness after a life of it is a dumb thing to do, but he knows Keith. And Keith breathes the strongest, purest form loyalty and a promise of warm food on some weekends and eventually everyday, when he returns from Kerberos. 

He feels gross just realizing how sure he is of it. 

He's so sure that he won't even have to ask and Keith will do it anyway. He'll do it even if Shiro fervently denies him and begs him to leave. Keith will take care of Shiro when Shiro can no longer take care of himself. He's already taking care of Shiro in some ways, has been so for a while. Relief and horror mixes within him because apparently his soul knew this fact before his brains did and he just found out.

At some point in his life, he started taking Keith's presence in it for granted.

At some point in their friendship, Shiro doomed Keith and when he returns from Kerberos, he's going to ruin Keith's life.

"Is that a wet towel on my bed?" he hears and nearly jumps. 

Shiro recovers with a wheeze and ventures a "No?" before picking up the towel and trowing it on his shoulder. It _is_ wet, and it sticks to his naked back with a slap. Keith groans, just mildly annoyed. Shiro apologizes with a forced laugh and picks up Keith's sheets and pillow to put it back into his room, so they have more space to stretch in the couch while they eat.

He can feel Keith's eyes on him when he walks out the living room and he knows that while on a daily basis Keith is extremely socially naive, he's really good at reading Shiro and totally noticed the sudden change in his mood. 

Perfect! Another thing to fuel the dread that bites on his neck and bleeds on his shoulders. He would never want this life for Keith, he worked so hard so Keith would have a better life than him, because Keith is better than him, as a man and as a pilot. Or will be. He's as sure of it as he's sure Keith isn't going anywhere. 

He drops the sheets on his bed and hangs the towel to dry when Keith informs that lunch is ready. 

Shiro swallows again. Maybe he's being dramatic. He shouldn't fear the step he takes closer to the kitchen to face his best friend of years, just because he just realized he can't imagine his life without weekends like this. 

But what if Keith does leave? What if all these thoughts are just Shiro stubbornly holding onto the only person that still feels genuine affection for him? Just him hoping against loneliness like he promised himself, after so much disappointment, to never do. 

It will be just like everyone else, except it won't. Because Keith is the closest friend he's ever had, the one who knows him best, the one who made Shiro depend on him just a little. 

And that little is a lot for Shiro.

The ghost of Keith's touch lingers on his chin. 

He walks into the kitchen to pick his plate but Keith puts himself between Shiro and the counter with their food, arms crossed. Shiro gulps.

Keith has gotten a little tall, and the big old shirts he inherited from Shiro don't look as big on him anymore. His face is sharper. 

Shiro just noticed this and it feels like a slap. 

"What is it?" Keith asks.

And Shiro crumbles. "When did it happen?" he pushes out breath when Keith raises an eyebrow at him, his tone turning self deprecating. _When did I my guard down this much?_ "When did you started babying me?" 

Keith's eyes widen for a second before he recovers his face, and he sighs. "I don't baby you." 

Shiro feels a lump in his throat. "Keith."

"I don't pity you, Shiro" Keith blinks and he drops his arms to his sides, open, with no secrets. "Come on." 

At this Shiro closes his eyes and he feels his eyelashes wet. It's not what he wants to ask and it's not the answer he wants yet he's so relieved to hear this. He'd like a hug, too, but he's shirtless and too much contact feels dangerous. He feels Keith's fingers wrap around his right wrist, over the bracelet- the constant reminder that his body is dying quicker than anyone else.

"Why this, suddenly?" he feels Keith breath too close to his face. Is he that tall? He's a little afraid to open his eyes now. Shiro licks his lips before answering. 

"I don't know." He really doesn't. "But I need to tell you that- that you don't owe me anything, Keith." 

The hand around his wrist tightens. "I know that." 

They stay like that for several seconds. Minutes. Shiro squeezes his eyes to keep them shut, annoyed because he's hungry as hell but in no mood to eat.

When Keith speaks again, he sounds just a little breathless.

"You once told me everyone needs a little help sometimes."

Shiro's eyes snap open. "I don't need help," he lies and it's obvious to the both of them. 

"I say that all the time" Keith lets go of his wrist and turns to pick one of the bowls full of their risotto. It looks amazing, it smells amazing. "But you always know better." 

And it's not a vengeance but on a normal day, Shiro would've accused him of it when he sees Keith serve several spoons of salad right on top of the risotto and mix it into one whole meal. The villain. 

"I like to think I know you better, too" Keith says, and his the corner of his lips tug upwards as he offers Shiro the bowl. 

Yeah he does, because there's two reasons why he ruins his risotto like this and it's both so Shiro doesn't pick the lettuce out and to make the salad's taste a little more bearable to him. On a normal day, Shiro would pretend to whine at him about it but right now he's too busy being amazed by the fact that this is routine for them, that Keith knows enough to twist his way into making Shiro eat a goddamn lettuce salad. And that he has used this and other tricks to deal with his picky eater ass ever since that one Friday night two years ago when a feverish Adam almost fainted on the couch, and a worried Keith put both hands on his ex boyfriend's face and said he'll make soup.

Shiro takes the bowl with the abomination in it, sniffles, and gives his best friend a small smile. "Thank you." 

He thanks him for many things. One of them being Keith committing the same sin on his own bowl of risotto so Shiro doesn't have to eat _like that_ all alone. He's always done this. 

"Hang in there" Keith sounds a little awkward then, he always says he's real bad at consoling people. But he cheers Shiro up every time. "It's been tough lately, but you'll feel much better once you get some warm food into your _tummy_."

Oh, he is awkward. Shiro's eyebrows high enough to miss into his hairline and Keith's face reddens the moment he realizes he just. Baby-talked to his superior officer.

The tension is gone just like that.

"You do baby me" Shiro says, but this time he's amused. 

"Stop." Keith tries to recover and be witty but fails, he can't sound sarcastic enough and the words spills out of his mouth before he could double think it. Shiro is dying as he watches, in slow motion, the tragedy of emotions that runs through Keith's face when he says "If that's what you want so much, I can always feed you while making-- _choo choo noises-_ " before choking.

Shiro inhales deeply and bites his lower lip, but his smile spreads anyway and he can feel it twist his whole face.

"Choo choo noises," he repeats. 

Keith's face gets redder. "I know what I said" he lifts his chin, trying to look proud as he walks past his best friend to sit on the couch.

Shiro learns one last thing about himself that Saturday: ever since he was a child he hated lettuce. They're bitter wet leaves that sticks to teeth, enabling humiliating situations and he's always said he hates them. 

But truth is, hate is a strong word. 

Sure, if he goes out to eat he'd never order anything with it. And unless Keith is grocery shopping with him, he'd never buy it. But as much as he says he hates it, he'd known since the first time he had this unholy risotto that- if Keith makes it, it'll taste amazing.

It tastes amazing. 

He'd take anything Keith gives him and that's genuinely a terrifying thought. Another terrifying thought is the one that tells him that it's not dread, what he felt earlier, but something he's definitely not ready to think about yet and that's why it hurt. 

But as soon as the food settles in his stomach he feels relaxed and sleepy and his best friend is warm by his side and it's Saturday and all is well.

Keith is right.

He does feel better.


End file.
